


Death is colourless, Never send me back.

by winter_ym



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dead TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Everyone Needs A Hug, Evil Plans, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Ghost Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Ghost Wilbur Soot, Ghostbur and Wilbur Soot are Different People, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sad Wilbur Soot, Scared TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-23 04:02:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30049629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_ym/pseuds/winter_ym
Summary: “Schlatt - he’s fucking dead. I’ve seen his grave, his grave is real, his corpse is there.”Dream turned menacingly. In a sudden rage, he lashed out, fists flying.“Why don’t you go see him yourself?”Two heartsOne and a halfOne heartHalf a heartSTOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STO---So what did it feel like? Death?-Tommy's experience with Death (and coming back).
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	1. To the end of the Tunnel

TOMMY POV

Tommy was dead. He knew it. Every cell in his body felt like it had combusted, shredded to pieces, torn apart and messily sewn back together. He did not expect death to be quite like this - not darkness, not light. Just nothing. 

He could not see in this nothingness, but in his mind he knew there was a tunnel ahead, and although it was a dark void like everything else, it was as if its outline was burned into his thoughts. He tried to move, but instead felt weightless, a mere conscience floating in the abyss of death. He should be feeling panicked, terrified, angry, something! Why wasn’t he feeling at all? He screamed, the shrill sound reduced to nothing in seconds.

“Hello?” A familiar voice from the end of the tunnel shocked him from his thoughts.

“Wilbur?”

_ Silence. _

“Will?”

_ A pause. _

“You’ve got to get out,” the tired voice of his past friend called.

“Out of where?”

“To the end of the tunnel, or you’re never going back.”

-

Tommy didn’t know how long he had been trying, trying to move himself to no avail. It was impossible. If he didn’t have a physical form, how was he supposed to move? And what did Wilbur mean by “you’re never going back”? He was dead already.

He stopped trying, instead letting his thoughts drift.  _ What had happened? Where was he? He was killed. Killed by… By… _

A sudden jolt of movement tore through him, voices in the vacuum of the void whispering into his ears, sharp abrasive sounds that stabbed into his psyche like shards of glass:

_ “Why, Tommy?”  _

_ “Why don’t you?.” _

_ “Why don’t you go see him?” _

_ “Why don’t you go see him yourself?” _

“STOP!” The strength of his own voice started him. “STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP ST-”

-

Tommy’s eyes flew open.

The image of the tunnel was gone from his brain. Instead, through the nothingness, he visualised a figure. The figure was moving towards him and he backed away, only to fall straight on his back. His fingers clawed through sandy ground as he shuffled further away from the looming form before him.

Its silhouette resembled that of a man. It smelled pungent, like rotting flesh and strong alcohol and a lingering scent of… drugs? 

“Schlatt?”

“Get the FUCK off my turf.”

Tommy barely rolled away in time as a glass bottle smashed beside him. Fragments sprayed at him from the ground and dug into his palm as he rolled aside to dodge another projectile. 

“Schlatt, Schlatt, J. Schlatt. It’s me, Tommy, TommyInnit.” His words frantically escaped his mouth. 

The bottle-throwing didn’t stop. Out of the corner of his eye, another figure appeared behind Schlatt. Thank goodness, Wilbur to the rescue.

“Glatt, that’ll be enough.” The glass stopped flying. To Tommy: “He’s a wild one isn’t he? I guess that’s what happens when your last words are ‘flatty patty’.” He chuckled to himself, then paused to look down at the young boy on the ground. “As for you, welcome.” Tommy could feel the glint in his eye as he spoke. “I’m Ghostbur, and you are?”

Tommy faltered… Did his friend not remember him? 

“I… I’m Tommy.”

The smile on the stranger’s face before him widened. “Well Tommy, welcome to Death!”

-

The next hour passed slowly. It was still surreal. He, the Man, TommyInnit, was dead. The worst thing was that he couldn't even remember why he was dead, or how he had died. He just knew that this was Death, his new home.

Tommy followed Ghostbur through a maze of corridors and hallways. Items flew through the air - golden apples, books, item frames, but most of all, swords, daggers and arrows, spiralling in little circles before Tommy’s face. He stepped around them once in a while, avoiding being impaled by flying knives - then again, what would happen? He was already dead. As for how he could “see” all this, he still wasn’t sure. He could still only see nothingness with his eyes, but an image of his surroundings was still entering his mind some way or another. It was just something he had accepted by now.

Wilbur, no, Ghostbur finally stopped ahead of him. Before them stood a single building, a small square of a room, too small to be called a hut. It had no windows and no doors - just a plain cube in the midst of emptiness. 

“This is where you’ll be staying. May what you find inside give you the answers that you need.” And with that, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the blanket of nihility, leaving Tommy gaping at the shoe-box of a room in front of him.

Cautiously, he stepped up to the walls of the room and concentrated on the image in his brain. No door? Yes, he was sure of that now. How was he supposed to get in? His hands pressed against the wall, pushing a little to see what would happen. A sudden pain caused him to draw his hands back. He had completely forgotten about the shards of glass still embedded into his left palm. Tommy lifted his hand, preparing to inspect a bloody mess. However, what he saw was not blood. 

From each of the cuts in his palm, a grey vapour trailed, its misty, glowing aura cutting through the darkness of the void. It was beautiful, faint shades floating away, what would be his blood and survival now just art. His eyes followed the wisps of vapour until they disappeared into nothing.

Carefully, he pulled out shard after shard of glass, each bringing a stream of grey with it. What should be excruciating pain was now dull and numb. The glass fell to the floor with faint tinkle, followed by a delicate echo.

Upon snapping out of his trance to glance back at the building, he was surprised to find that an opening had appeared, a strange circular shape that led to the inside of an odd room. Tommy crouched, tentatively ducking his head to fit through the hole, which quickly vanished as fast as it had appeared once he had passed through.

The walls were covered in clocks - small, simple round clocks that had no numbers, only a dial covering half of its face, perhaps indicating the position of the sun (if there was one). It was only now he realised the texture of his walls, smooth stones of darkness - obsidian, but darker. He ran his fingers along the walls, watching the mist of his blood cover the rock and lighting it up. There was no bed in the room, only an empty sink, a chest to store things (currently full of books) and a lectern shoved in the corner. What intrigued Tommy the most was the table, wooden and stood in the centre of it all. On it sat a single raw potato.

All at once, emotion washed over him like a tidal wave - fear, anger, sadness, confusion, loneliness. It was too much. As ridiculous as it seemed, that potato meant something. Something important. So important. But he couldn’t put a finger on it, both mentally and literally. Tommy felt as if touching it would incinerate what little ‘life’ he had left. 

Instead, he curled up in the corner of the room; and since real tears weren’t able to fall from his blank eyes, his soul wept, filling itself with salty sadness - a sea of sorrow drowning his heart.

-

He dreamt. He did not know he could dream in Death. 

In his dreams there was no void, no hungry darkness, no pain.

He dreamt of a world that seemed so far, yet so close, so real. 

He dreamt of green: green grass, green skies, green lakes, all picturesque in a vibrant shade of lime.

He dreamt of smiling faces, innocent and pure, filling him with joy.

He dreamt of freedom: a place by the sea where he was alone, listening to music by a fine white tent; a party by the beach with a friend.

For the first time in a long time, Tommy felt joy.

So why did he wake up shivering and sweating in fear?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some things which are a bit different from the real storyline, for instance, Ghostbur appeared in real life as a different entity to his consciousness, which went in the afterlife. My version of Wilbur’s consciousness in the afterlife is leaning more towards a Ghostbur-like character (figured it would be more interesting this way).
> 
> Next chapter will be a different POV. This is my first fic and I am always looking to improve, so feel free to leave constructive criticism below - I will not be offended! :)) Also tell me what you would want to see in the future of this fic since the storyline I have in mind is still pretty vague.
> 
> Probably gonna post another chapter later. A bit of light fluff because I'm in the mood for it :))


	2. Lacuna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lacuna: an unfilled space; a gap.
> 
> When Ghostbur finds Tommy, he can't help but love him. He was like the little brother he never had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 chapters in one day?
> 
> Your good friend Winter is in the mood. :))

GHOSTBUR POV

Another day, another walk by the tunnel. Ghostbur didn’t know how many days he had been in Death, but it was his home. 

That morning, waking up had been a peculiar occurrence; there was a strange sense of familiarity in the air. As usual, he woke up without a thought in his head, but, not as usual, an odd feeling in his gut. Confused, his eyes flicked around his room - nothing different; walls covered in buttons and a sword half stuck into the ground in the corner. Everything was as it should be, and Ghostbur was glad to hear the quiet bleat of a sheep outside - that signalled the start of his daily tasks:

  
  


  1. Feed Friend



Ghostbur’s blue sheep that had tragically died (he couldn’t remember why but when he thought about it all he could envision was an axe in his hand, which pained him, so he stopped thinking) happily grazed in the grass field in the Up section of Death, the place of the purest souls.

It was a huge garden, orchards of trees abundant with enchanted golden apples that glowed majestically and cut through the dark, the void, what he had begun calling  _ lacuna _ simply because he still didn’t understand the properties of the empty negative space that made up his air. Plus, the word  _ lacuna _ just sounded way better.

Friend munched peacefully on his grass, once in a while stopping to look at Ghostbur fondly. Ghostbur liked Friend. Friend made Ghostbur happy.

  
  


  1. Check on Mexican Dream



Ghostbur stepped onto a patch of ground that was slightly darker ( _ lacuna-er? _ ) than the rest. He silently mumbled: “134” and instantly, the patch of ground disappeared under his feet. Ghostbur could feel the wind rush through his translucent form as he fell, momentarily slipping into unconsciousness before appearing by a wooden shack, walls half destroyed by an explosion.

He was greeted by an obnoxiously loud voice from inside: “Mamacita? Is that you?”

So it was this kind of day.

As burritos began to rain from above, Ghostbur turned on his heels to make his escape, hurrying back to the patch of ground (an elevator of sorts he supposed), calling out “120” then quickly ascending to his next destination. Going up was always better than falling down in his opinion, much less disorientating. 

  
  


  1. Walk by the Tunnel



There was no real purpose to this task. Everyday brought the same findings, you guessed it, absolutely nothing. Ghostbur still remembered his entrance into Death, his first encounter with the voices that helped him fight his way to the end.

He took his usual route, a wide arc around the entrance of the Tunnel - he never ceased to fear being pulled back in. As he walked, though, he could feel the unfamiliar pull in his gut getting stronger. 

Trying his best to shrug it off, he resumed his walk, checking off his tasks one by one.

  
  


  1. Hope Glatt hadn’t---



  
  


A scream.

From the Tunnel.

He stopped walking.

“Hello?” he called into the void ahead.

“Wilbur?” came the reply, a voice full of hope and child-like innocence.

Wilbur? Who was Wilbur? The name was so familiar - it sounded so much like his own.  _ Ghostbur. Wilbur. Ghost-bur. Wil-bur. Coincidence? _

“Will?” the voice called out again.

Ghostbur sharply exhaled, his held breath rushing out of his lungs. He was not “Will”, but he felt a strong urge to help this voice, a voice that reminded him so much of his own when he was in the Tunnel.

“You’ve got to get out,” a ghost of a voice leaving his lips.

Heedful of where he placed his feet, Ghostbur slowly approached the Tunnel .

“Out of where?”

The kid had to get out. It was terrible there.

“To the end of the tunnel, or you’re never going back.”

\- *time skip* - 

He didn’t want to wake the child who had died so young. Tommy couldn’t be more than 15? 16? The boy lay, tightly curled up into a foetal position, his whole body shaking with fright.

Why was he shaking? He was asleep. In Death, you couldn’t dream, not even if you tried… So why was Tommy reacting in such a way to sleep?

Ghostbur crouched down next to the child, curiously watching his eyes move rapidly behind his closed eyelids and his breath rushing in and out of panicked lungs. Every one of his movements was so… alive, so real, so raw - emotion tumbling off him and hitting Ghostbur’s still heart, triggering feelings he never knew existed. 

Out of the blue, a flailing arm blindly struck at him, hitting the side of his cheek with a smack. The boy’s eyes flew open. He immediately began hyperventilating and lurched away from Ghostbur, backing himself into the obsidian walls of his room.

“Hey Tommy,” Ghostbur kept his distance, not wanting to frighten the now snivelling child even more. “Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. Hey, it’s me, Ghostbur.”

The breathing went quicker still, the child gasping for air through the thinness of Death’s atmosphere. Tommy’s eyes were wide in shock, and he was saying something that Ghostbur could not understand as the boy’s lips moved rapidly, forming incomprehensible words

He slowly moved closer to the crying boy, and when the boy unfurled his arms from his knees and reached out to him, Ghostbur stepped into the embrace, protectively cradling him in his arms. He swore that if any person, being, creature, entity; if anyone laid a finger on this boy he would do anything to defend him. 

“It’ll be okay, it’ll be okay, it’ll be okay.” 

A quiet sob, then from the boy’s eyes tears fell - tears of pure gold that shone through the lacuna, a colour Ghostbur had never seen. Tommy’s head shifted to rest on his shoulder, bathing him in gold. 

“Shh, little one, it’ll be alright.” The boy’s thin, trembling arms tightened around him. “It’ll be alright, Tommy. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here, shhhh, it’ll be okay.” Ghostbur rocked gently, a smooth repetitive motion like a ship swaying in the ocean’s calm waves.

Gradually, the sniffling ceased and the boy went limp in his arms. Ghostbur buried his face into Tommy’s soft hair. He had never felt warmth like this before. It seeped through his translucent form, filling him with fondness and affection. This boy was something special and he was never letting him go.

Ghostbur rocked and rocked and rocked, until he too fell fast asleep, a ball of pure golden light in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of fluff before things get intense (totally not revealing any plot things). 
> 
> Once again, tell me stuff you like, stuff you don’t like and what you want to see. I am your writing slave. (joking)(not joking)


	3. Cat's Cradle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cat’s cradle: a child's game in which a loop of string is put around and between the fingers and complex patterns are formed.
> 
> What is Death exactly? *buildup to the climax*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 chapters in a day to get this going.
> 
> See you guys in a bit :))

GLATT POV

“Good morning, Glatt.” The figure sat on its throne.

“Why have you called me here, O Great One?”

The figure shifted, moving closer to Glatt, subconsciously causing him to scoot back away from the sheer force of it.

“You have to keep an eye on the new arrival.”

“Yes, O Great one, I shall,” Glatt cautiously looked up from the ground that he was staring at to avoid eye contact with the huge shadow-like figure before him. “If you don’t mind me asking, what am I to be looking out for?”

“He is very dangerous and has the potential to ruin this kingdom.”

Glatt swallowed. “He is but a child, O Great One. I don’t think he is of any harm. Are you sure it is him who poses this threat?”

“YOU DO NOT QUESTION ME,” a deep echoing voice, like rumbling thunder, boomed. There was a pause as the figure regained its composure. “Come here, Glatt.”

Glatt did as he was told, muttering his apologies and carefully climbing the jagged rocks up to the dark throne.

“Closer.”

Glatt stepped up to the figure, feeling the stare of its eyes penetrating through him. A cold hand softly caressed his cheek, claw-like fingernails leaving a wet trail behind them.

“Now, Glatt.” The voice was now dripping with sickly sweet honey, each word sticking on to Glatt’s mind and latching on with barbed fingers. “You love this kingdom and it is your home - it is our home. Wouldn’t it be a shame if we lost this home?”

Glatt’s face was now tilted up, entranced by the face of the figure before him. “Certainly, O Great One.”

“Well, you are going to keep an eye on that boy. I hear a voice calling for him from outside our kingdom walls. You, my brave soldier, will make sure he stays. You will make sure he never leaves.”

“I shall, O Great One.”

-

TOMMY POV

Tommy woke again, this time his mind blank. He was wrapped in something cold.. no, someone cold. Wil- no, Ghostbur was holding him in his arms, both of them pushed against the obsidian walls. 

Although his embrace was cold, it was filled with comfort and Tommy leaned into it, only now noticing his face was wet. He reached up a hand to wipe away the tears, the movement shuddering Ghostbur awake.

Instantaneously, Ghostbur moved away from Tommy in confusion. It was when he turned away that Tommy could see the gold streaks on his shirt, like rain running down the side of a car window, but made of pure gold. The gold also decorated Tommy’s hand, which he had used to wipe his face. The gold was his tears.

Oh, so he was crying. He didn’t remember crying. He didn’t remember Ghostbur entering his room either. Oh right, Ghostbur was staring at him now.

“What are you doing here?” Tommy inquired.

The man’s expression softened all of a sudden.

“I- I think I’ll be off now.” Ghostbur got up, hastily walking out of the room, straight through the wall.

That was strange.

Tommy stood up, curiously running his gold-coated fingers to draw a fine golden line on the wall. He didn’t realise what he was drawing until he stood back. A strange smiley face shone in gold on the wall. It was simple and it was familiar.

He shook his head. This was ridiculous! He was drawing smiley faces on the walls with his own tears. Calling this pathetic was an understatement. He turned away to walk out of the room, but just as he was about to leave, a voice - not Ghostbur’s, not Glatt’s rang out from behind him.

“Tommy!”

Tommy stopped in his tracks.

“Tommy!”

That voice… He recognised it.

It was American and… 

“Tommy, can you hear me?”

“Yes,” he replied, his voice shaking.

“You can come back now.” Then his voice became rhythmic, like he was reading something. The words echoed around the void getting louder and louder as the voice read on.

_ “From the darkness, _

_ Make your escape. _

_ Do not trust anyone, _

_ Whatever form or shape. _

_ To where you came, _

_ You shall return. _

_ The reward of this journey, _

_ You will have to earn.” _

As the voice read on, the ground shook, sending fissures crawling up the obsidian walls. The chest in the corner fell over spilling thick bound books all over the ground. The smiley face he had drawn on the wall glowed even brighter than ever, illuminating the room in a blinding light.

Tommy stumbled out of the room, which expelled rays of dazzling golden light in all directions, like a knife carving out shapes in the void. In the light, he could see nothing - not the image in his head nor his surroundings. He was running. Away from the room. What did the message mean? Who was this voice? Why- 

The next step Tommy took was onto empty air.

He felt his body being thrown forward and hitting what felt like a ledge - a fissure no doubt - and then he fell.

Through the ground. Falling, falling, falling. He must have lost consciousness for a while because one second he was falling and the next he was on the ground, laying on hard concrete. 

He felt numb all over, the pain only beginning to burn into his limbs. Dizzy, he opened his eyes, the world spinning around him and slowly coming into focus.

The light was gone, making the world seem even darker than it was. He analysed his surroundings, realising he was somewhere he had never been before.

Buildings towered overhead, so high that they faded out into the sky. They were a disorderly combination of village houses, mansions and towers, all stacked on top of one another. Strangely, the buildings all leaned to an epicentre, as if being pulled by the force of a black hole. Instead of floating calmly in the air, items shot past like bullets overhead, some barely grazing the tips of Tommy’s hair. He gasped, taking it all in. 

Still disorientated by the voice and the fall, Tommy tentatively stepped forward, looking down to avoid any cracks that may swallow him up again. 

What did that voice say? At this point, it almost felt like a dream.

Dream.

Dream.

Tommy played the word in his head over and over.

Why did that word seem so important?

The poem he spoke was still ringing in his ears, repeating itself to him over and over.

_ From the darkness,  _

_ Make your escape. _

What darkness? Everything was dark! How was he to escape everything?

Then it dawned on him.

He had been somewhere before Death.

He could barely remember it, but he remembered that that world was full of light. 

_ Make your escape. _

He had to escape. He had to leave Death. No, Death wasn’t his home. 

Tommy began pacing, frantically running his hands through his hair.

_ Do not trust anyone, _

_ Whatever form or- _

“Tommy?”

Tommy’s heart skipped a beat. Before him stood a boy with brown hair and soft blue eyes.

“Tubbo?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Tears began welling up in Tommy’s eyes. He surged forward, engulfing his friend in a bone-crushing hug.

“You have no idea how much I have missed you, Tubbo. It’s like I’ve not seen you in forever.” Tommy felt Tubbo tense in surprise, then ease into the hug.

“I’ve missed you too, Tommy.” Tubbo patted his back twice, then broke away. “But we need to go.” Tommy could see a look of fear in his best friend’s eyes. “Follow me.”

“Where? Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“I can’t explain, but please, you need to trust me.”

_ Do not trust anyone _

“Wait, Tubbo.”

His friend stopped.

“What’s the matter, Tommy?”

“I… I just can’t.”

“Come on, Tommy, we really need to go. I’m only trying to help.”

_ Whatever form or shape _

“Tommy?” His friend’s gentle hand was on his shoulder. “Remember that time when we watched the sunrise together? On that bench? We were listening to music. The discs, Tommy. When we won the war. Do you remember?”

Emotions flooded Tommy, simply remembering made him feel so… So… 

_ Whatever form or shape _

But this was his friend. His best friend. Tubbo was here with a hand on his shoulder. He was not alone anymore!

_ Whatever form or…  _

“Okay, Tubbo.” 

Tommy shook the voice from his mind.

“Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think Tubbo is going to do - predictions anyone?
> 
> If you are confused with this whole Tubbo thing, it will be made clear soon ;))
> 
> I really like writing, so tell me how the story is going so far and give kudos if you enjoy it! (motivates me to write more)


	4. In the Jaws of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "From the darkness,  
> Make your escape.  
> Do not trust anyone,  
> Whatever form or shape.  
> To where you came,  
> You shall return.  
> The reward of this journey,  
> You will have to earn."
> 
> Tommy needs to leave Death. But the journey ahead is treacherous. Great evils lie beyond his imagination and he is at the mercy of everything. 
> 
> And everyone.

TOMMY POV

Tommy followed Tubbo through the mysterious terrain, his friend traversing it like it was a walk in the park. As they traveled on, the ground became more rocky, more jagged, more sharp - like stalagmites made out of dark void.

Tommy was lost in thought. Something felt very wrong, but he didn’t know what it was. In his mind, the poem still played over and over like a song on loop. It almost seemed like a prophecy.

He knew he should be thinking about it more, but all he could think about was that his friend was here and that he was finally safe.

Tubbo suddenly stopped and Tommy almost bumped into him.

“We’re here.”

Tommy and Tubbo stood before a castle. It was made of stone, the darkest he had ever seen. Here, every surface seemed to be covered in a layer of jagged rocks, song dangerously sharp, forcing him to constantly look down to avoid being impaled in the foot. Tubbo didn’t seem to have any problems, navigating easily. 

Had his friend been here before?

Wait…

His friend. Tubbo. He wasn’t dead. Tommy was dead. Tommy was killed. Tubbo was alive. Tubbo was in the overworld. So why was Tubbo here?

_ Don’t trust anyone _

But Tubbo was his friend. He had so many vivid memories with him. Tubbo even remembered watching the sunset. Tubbo was… 

_ Whatever form or shape _

Tubbo was…

“I’m sorry, Tommy.”

His ‘friend’ violently grabbed him by the arm, shoved him, and before he knew it, he was falling, watching the imposter of his friend get smaller and smaller, now with cold, hard eyes and a foreign smirk on his face.

He fell and fell, momentarily losing consciousness again then hitting the ground.

This time, the ground wasn’t hard concrete. Tommy was in a sort of net, spanning for as far as he could see. He tried to move, only to realise the net he was in was thick, sticky and stretchy at the same time, covered in the white, misty substance that he knew to be blood.

He was in a death trap. A spider’s web.

Tommy struggled against the dense, viscous mass, only to sink into it even more.

“HELP!” He screamed. Maybe Ghostbur could help him. Could he? Could the man even find him? And would he help him?

_ Do not trust anyone _

He had not listened to the poem. And this is where it had led him. He had to be smart about this.

Tommy scanned his surroundings, desperately searching for a way out. He was right in the centre of the web, at the bottom of a deep pit. The walls of the pit were covered in the same sharp black stone. 

He tried to move again, gathering all his strength. He twisted and turned and kicked until he passed out from exhaustion.

-

Tommy awoke to a voice, but not one he recognised.

“Hello, Tommy.”

His surroundings were completely dark. The web he was in felt as if it was tightly gripping on to his arms, and the misty blood washed over his face, bringing a putrid smell to his nose.

“Who are you? Why am I trapped here?” 

A laugh resounded, echoing around the cavernous space

“Oh, Tommy,” the voice continued, filled with amusement, “You don’t understand, do you?”

“No, I don’t. Tell me what’s going on!”

The voice hummed. “How about you tell me who is summoning you.”

“I don’t know!”

“You’re lying.”

“I really don’t know! I swear!”

“I can smell your lies, you filthy soul.”

A figure crawled out of the darkness and Tommy’s heart skipped a beat. It looked like a creature out of a horror movie - four long limbs of jagged, bladed rock sprung from a shrivelled body, a grotesque, hooded head on top.

“Tell me your secrets, Tommy,” the creature hissed and up close, Tommy could see its teeth, a gleaming black and dripping with a vile dark liquid.

For once, Tommy was speechless, frozen in fear.

Its words grew in volume, now a thick, nauseating sound to his ears.

“Tell me, Tommy. Who is calling you back?”

All of a sudden, Tommy felt the urge to answer. He needed to tell this creature everything it wanted to know.

But what did he know?

“I-”

His head was throbbing, a sharp pain working its way into the centre of his brain.

“Dream,” he blurted.

Why did he say that?

What did that mean?

The creature before him looked away, muttering something under his breath.

“What do you want from me?” Tommy didn’t know where this sudden courage came from.

The creature whipped around, a smile spreading on its gruesome face.

“Poor Tommy,” a long, black tongue shot out of its mouth, flicking over its teeth. “Your words would not be so bold if you knew who I was.”

“Then tell me who you are!”

The creature let loose a guttural laugh, reverberating around the pit. The walls began to shake, rock falling in streams of deadly rain.

The creature began contorting right before Tommy’s eyes. What resembled a head was gone. Instead, on its shoulders sat a pulsating hole surrounded by rows and rows and rows of sharp teeth, resembling the rocks on the walls of the pit.

The voice now spoke from all around him, a hundred hungry whispers all speaking in unison. 

“I… Am… DEATH.”

The creature advanced, its blade-like limbs sending vibrations along the web. In a last feeble attempt, Tommy tried to free himself.  _ O Please, PLEASE! _

The rows of teeth came closer and closer.

Tommy couldn’t budge.

He screamed, but the sound was swept away in the void.

The rows of teeth came closer still.

A flash of movement.

And then they were embedded into Tommy’s torso.

-

Tommy woke, delirious. His vision was blurred and he looked around. He was still in the pit, but it was spinning, covered in a thick fog. He was so dizzy. He was so tired.

He looked down at his body and would have screamed if he had the energy.

There was a huge hole in his torso, right through to the other side, pouring the thick mist which he now knew to be blood. He felt nauseous as he realised what the fog around him actually was.

Struggling was no use, especially in this weak state. The webs held him in place. The creature - oh God. Tommy’s eyes flitted around the pit, searching for any sign of it. 

Then he heard footsteps. At the top of the pit. And someone singing.

_ 🎶 I heard there was a special place,🎶 _

Ghostbur?

_ 🎶 where men could go and emancipate 🎶 _

“Ghostbur.” The weak sound barely left his lips.

_ 🎶 the tyranny and bloodlust of their rulers 🎶 _

“Ghostbur.” Tommy gathered up all his energy, “Ghostbur!”

_ 🎶 Well this place is true, you needn't… 🎶  _

“Tommy?”

“Help me. I’m stuck.”

A face peered over the top of the pit.  Tommy heard the shuffling of feet and the creak of a door opening.

“Hold on, Tommy. I’m coming to get you.”

Shortly, another creak sounded, but much closer - from under him in fact. Ghostbur’s steps moved until they were right below him. 

“Tommy, you need to trust me. This is going to hurt.”   
  


Moments later, Tommy felt himself being wrenched from the web, a layer of his skin peeling off entirely. It burned like a colony of fire ants simultaneously biting him everywhere and he let out a small shriek, tumbling to the floor with a thud.

Ghostbur assessed Tommy’s wound, his cold hands hesitantly reaching out to touch it. Upon Tommy’s obvious flinch, he withdrew, instead walking back to the door he came in from.

Tommy shakily got up to his feet, surprised that he could stand in this state. Then again, he should not be surprised since he was literally in Death, with the ghost of his friend, an imposter of his other friend and a creature that sucked his blood that was not really blood but actually mist.

He stepped into the door, following behind Ghostbur. They were on a patch of land more void than the rest.

“21,” Ghostbur muttered, and they flew upwards, instantly appearing in an entirely different place. 

“Wait, Ghostbur.”

The man turned.

“I need to go, I need to get out of this place.”

“Get out?”

“I-”

The voice played once again in Tommy’s head.

_ “To where you came, _

_ You shall return.” _

Where he came… To where he came to Death? Something clicked.

“I think I need to go back to the tunnel.”

Ghosbur’s expression suddenly turned stone cold, but Tommy didn’t notice.

“The tunnel is the passage to the overworld, right?” He paced, “So if I can get back to the tunnel, I can get back.” He looked up at Ghostbur who was now staring, eyes alert and almost frightened.

“No, no, Tommy. You can’t go back. You just can’t.”

The look on Tommy’s face that Ghostbur saw was the stark contrast of the crying boy he had seen just two days before. Tommy was determined.

“I can. And I will. There’s something drawing me out and it’s hard to explain, but I’ve been hearing this poem in my head like a prophecy.”

“Oh?”

“Listen.” Tommy squeezed his eyes shut and focused, reciting the words of the poem along with the voice. As Ghostbur listened, his eyes grew in awe. 

This couldn’t be. It was impossible. Ghostbur had never felt pain, but the words burned his ears as they were spoken. Tommy finished the last line, looking up expectantly at Ghostbur. This was his chance.

“Okay. I can help you get to the tunnel, my friend.”

Ghostbur paused, swallowing.

“On one condition.”

He stared right into Tommy’s eyes.

“Take me back with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this storyline may be getting confusing. But I hope yall like it!
> 
> At the moment, my other work is gaining popularity so I’m putting more time into writing that (if you want to read it, it’s a Blind!Dream head canon, which you can find under my works called "The eyes behind the mask".
> 
> I will usually put more time into stuff more people are reading, so if you enjoy this work and want to see more, let me know by commenting and kudoing. No cost for you and much joy for me!
> 
> Thank you for reading! (and more to come, prompts in the comments)


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